Parallax
by Imagined-Ink
Summary: The universe works in funny ways. Sometimes you're meant to meet someone, sometimes you're not. Sometimes aliens are meant to crash in your backyard, sometimes they're meant to contact you via fast food ordering station. Then again, it all depends on the person right? The town laughing stock, the tiny Invader, the two fugitives, the Resistance, the Armada, and the lazy introvert.
1. 1

**It's been a while since I tried to successfully write a multichapter fic. Let's see how this goes. Pretty much a disclaimer, this has many different stores tying together throughout. Also, OC/Canon, OC/OC warning. I apologize if that's not your cup of tea, but it's not gonna be solely based on that. This is more or less me trying to get my space legs, start writing sci-fi for the heck of it.**

**I hope this is acceptable.**

_**Disclaimer:**_** Because these things are important. I don't own Invader Zim. That belongs to Jhonen Vasquez, and Nickelodeon Studios. In the future, I'll be owning my OC's. But yeah, IZ=JV and NS.**

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><p>The constant hum of the engine was slowly driving him mad.<p>

That, and the fact that everywhere he looked, it was either metal, or space. Just…space. A big, black vacuum of stars and broken meteorites. No planets to land on. No ship to go back to. Not anymore—not since they'd been compromised.

With an angered growl, the Vortian lifted one hand to lay wearily against his head, whilst banging on his cruiser's com key with the other. If they were stuck out here for now, contact was necessary, even if it was unwanted. Shame had made him want to hide, but it would be foolish for the troop to split up under these circumstances. They were still too far from any noticeable or recognizable landing sites, other than that wretched mud-ball beneath them.

"Captain Lard Nar, come in Resisty. Repeat, Captain Lard Nar, come in Resisty."

"_Captain, you're okay! You're not dead—we're not doomed! Hooray!"_

Ah, of course the first one who would respond would be Skloo. He was always the optimist, in a strangely pessimistic sort of way. Reverse psychology, most probably. Hearing the chipper voice was both a relief, and an annoyance.

"_Lard Nar—reporting sir! Sorry, sir, the plan failed…uh, sir."_

"Yes, Spleenk. I can see that. Obviously."

"_Aha…yeah."_

"_You shouldn't have listened to him, Captain!"_

"I know, Skloo. I know."

"_I said I was sorry!"_

Sorry didn't really cut it this time. Here they were, stranded in Vort knows where, left in cruisers that were quickly losing power, with no set coordinates to escape to. If worse came to worse, they'd have to abandon the smaller ships to. But where would that leave them? In limited suits, with no choice but to float around aimlessly, not that they weren't doing that already. And landing on—what was it called?

His tracking system beeped for a moment, the red target rolling around the screen before it landed on the splotch of blue and green with a loud resounding chorus of beeps. '_Earth'_, the bright red text read, scrolling up the platform's sidebar, followed by what seemed to be a list of basic information about the "planet's" stats, water-to-land basis, average population…useless junk.

Landing on Earth was junk.

"_Captain…whadda we do now?"_

"I don't know—I don't know!" Panic, like always, fresh in his mind—his first instinct to jump to. Oh, if only it was so easy to run from his problems. Hide from them, more than likely. Yes, those seemed like great options. But you couldn't hide in space. And if you screamed, there was no one who could hear you either…unless you were in the same ship, or something. Or on the same com, as it happened.

"We're probably just gonna lose energy and then the we'll lose our air supply and be stuck drifting out in the void and after we lose our air we're gonna die and be stuck out here forever we're gonna die I tell you-!"

"_Uh…sir?"_

"_We're gonna die! Oh, he said we're gonna die! Oh, man, oh man!"_

"_Sir?"_

"WE'RE GONNA DIE AND BE STUCK OUT HERE FOREVER-!"

"_SIR!"_

"What?" His hands shot up from the place where they'd be clutching his head. The screen linking the coms flashed red dangerously. A bright, crimson pulse of light that illuminated the cruiser's inner cabin, not only from the desk where Lard Nar sat, but from the emergency beacon overhead.

Oh…

"Whoops."

"_What'd you do?!"_

"_He's targeted our ships for Earth! We—we're landing! Captain!" _A frantic scream in the background. Crashes. More screams. Apparently more than just Spleenk and Skloo had made it out alive, and they were just as frightened as the rest of them were, _"What were you thinking?"_

"I was—I-!" Curse it all—how did he reverse this forsaken thing again? No matter what button he pressed, how hard he kicked or smacked the machine, no matter where he swiped his hand against the interactive screen, nothing changed. Still that same glowing light, that same bright, overbearing destination, growing ever closer as the ships rocked through the empty space, pulled like a reverse tractor-beam towards the mass of blue and green. Earth.

They'd just escape this before—_surely_ they could do it again!

The inner room shook as if a giant hand had taken the ship and was trying to toss its Captain out of the side hatch. Unsecured by any sort of fastener, he was unable to stop himself from bouncing around the interior, before his tiny body was finally tossed against the front window with a sickening squeaking sound. Lard Nar slid down the surface in agony, only to bolt upright as the same shaking began again, this time more violently.

"Evacuate!" He shrieked, slamming his fist against the eject button. "Evacuate! _Evacuate!"_

No change. Stupid thing was busted—at any time it could have happened, it had to happen now. Perfect. Just perfect. Now what? He couldn't undo the airlock—that'd just kill him, and destroy the ship. Without the control ship the rest were useless, as well as the crew inside it.

"_Captain, we can't get out!"_

"_The Eject buttons are jammed sir! Some sort of frequency is messing with our systems!"_

"No! No, no, no, _no, NO!"_ The alarmed Vortain beat his fists against the metal countertop until they went numb. Nothing was working, and his entire crew was headed straight for Earth. What sort of Captain was he to let this happen? A horrible one! He'd caused it! "Just—stay calm. Yeah, stay calm. It's not like w_E'RE GONNA DIE, OH VORT, MOMMY—"_

"_Ahaha! We're gonna die! Oh, we're definitely gonna die!"_

The only sound from Spleenk's com was static, mixed with high-pitched, feminine screaming.

Or maybe that was just him.

…

Oh, _yeah_. That was him.

So he let himself scream. The Captain of the Resisty, one of the few remaining Vort refugees, Lard Nar, curled himself into a ball in the cockpit of his cruiser, claws latching onto the armrests of his seat, and let out a wailing screech. The resounding chorus of his crew's terrified cries mixed with his own, none of the poor aliens able to do a thing about that fact that their ships were being sucked down onto the planet they'd just successfully managed to escape contact with.

Now…they had no choice.

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><p>"<em>Dangit<em>…stupid machine." Dib twirled the knobs on his device, listening desperately for the sound he'd just managed to pick up. Voices. He swore he'd heard voices.

And if he could get a recording of them—any sort of sample, really, that they existed—maybe then! Maybe then he could finally get people to understand! To _believe!_ Then they'd get rid of Zim once and for all, and mankind would be safe from the Irken Empire! He'd be a hero, someone to revere.

He wouldn't be made fun of anymore.

"_C'mon, c'mon!"_ He whispered furiously, turning every knob this way and that, headphones smushed against his face. Just a word. A brief little blip of '_domination'_ or '_execution'_ or '_total annihilation'_. Yeah, those'd be good to catch. And with the readings his charts were giving off…he should've been able to catch something right—about—_now!_

"…"

…Nothing. Another angry grumble. He'd worked so hard on this one too! Gotten his camera ready—gotten the recorder set up—even made a lazer-based plasma blaster, in case Zim showed up to interrupt him. Unexpectedly, the little green freak hadn't been out all day. Which was weird, because he was usually out making chaos on a daily basis. Sometimes weekly, on bad stretches.

But yeah…_weird_.

Not that Dib was worried about that now. He wanted this proof! C'mon, universe, just give the poor big-headed kid a chance to prove himself! Just one little chance! So it was midnight? So he hadn't slept in almost a week working on this project? He deserved this chance!

"…_A…"_

"Whoa!" That was something. It was just a second of footage, a small vocal clip. But that was definitely not human. Way too high-pitched, and unless a little girl was trapped up in space, then in was definitely an alien.

A grin broke out against the boy's face. Oh, yeah, this was what he was talking about! Just a little bit more like this! One full word…c'mon…_c'mon…_

"…_A…A…"_

"Yes!"

"…_A…A…A…"_

"Annihilation?" Oh, _please_ let it be annihilation! Please, please, please_, please!_

"…_A…A…A…AAAAAAAAH!"_

He was _not_ expecting that. The scream of terror burst through his ears, painful and way too loud. Dib tore off the headphones, still able to clearly hear the shouting even as he held the headset at arm's length. Man, there was some chaos up there tonight. And he was getting _everything._

"Yes, yes, yes!" The child-investigator leapt up, feeling energy course through him like a burst of sunshine. He felt like a new man…er, boy. Tonight was the night Dib Membrane was victorious!

"Dad! Gaz! Come look, come look! I did it! _I did it!"_

He'd gotten proof! He'd gotten-!

"_AAAAAAAAAAH!"_

That…that sounded _close_. His words cut off just as his sister reached out to slam their living room window shut. Of course she wasn't interested, but he'd show her.

"_AAAAAAAAAAAAH!"_

Was that…_getting closer?_ The volume of the ear-pieces were at the lowest setting now, but the screams sounded like they were right next to him. And good reason too.

Something shot over his head, a fiery burst that hurtled down so unexpectedly, Dib hardly had a moment to process it. A short burst of a cry escaped his throat, as he hurriedly moved towards his escape ladder, away from the three or four similar-shaped fireballs that were hurtling towards his direction.

_Crashing ships._

One after another, they coursed over the empty sky, each a shooting star in its own right. More like a crashing star. A few dipped down, metallic screeches showing sparks down on lawns as the ships bounced off the buildings and rooftops, sometimes taking a few pieces with them.

Quickly, gathering all of his supplies in his arms, he tried to slide down the edges of the ladder, only to trip on the next to last step. An ungraceful flip, and Dib was caught, dangling from one foot off the ladder, too short to reach the ground, not enough arm muscle to reach back up to rebalance himself. All of his cords, machinery, and papers flopped just out of reach, landing on the soggy grass just below.

"Oh, no! No! No! C'mon, _no!"_ He wriggled against the hold, but to no avail. His shoe was caught in between the steps, pinned against the side of the house. "This isn't fair! Aliens are crashing in my neighbors' yards and I can't even go be the first to greet and destroy 'em!"

Oh, yes. Of course this was what he was most occupied with. Not recording the evidence. Not when such precious material was so close to his reach. If he could…_just_…

Nope. Still stuck.

Looked like he was gonna be here all night. But while he had the chance, he tried calling out, however weakly.

"Uh…Dad? Gaz? A little help?"

"_Shutup_, Dib. I'm playing my game."

Not fair.


	2. 2

**I'm really fueled up. I've got the entire outline of the fic set out, albeit with some changes put in if needed, like possible filler chapters, or combining more than one chapter for length, or plot development.**

**Also, Anon, since you're so curious (that's not a bad thing, I was planning on telling anyway!"), here are the list of pairings I have set out/are considering for this fic!**

**Canon/OC: Lard Nar/Roxi**

**OC/OC: They'll be showcased in the next chapter. Just another introduction, and then the adventure can really begin. All of these stories and characters intertwine I can assure you. **

**Canon/Canon: This is a very small possibility, but I'm feeling rather partial to it being more ZaDf and DaTr. Maybe ZaGr. Then again, romance is more just a side-bit of this entire thing, as it's all very action-packed (or I plan for it to be, at least), and those moments will be moreso in filler chapters, building up bit by bit.**

**I really appreciate the reviews I've gotten so far. I'm going to have a BETA begin looking these chapters over as soon as I can, so I hope you guys are okay with subtle revisions here and there. **

**Anyway, enjoy!**

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><p>Was it too much to ask that he could go <em>one day<em> without having Dib interrupt him with his failures of inventions?

All the Invader really wanted was to take a day off—to _plan_, of course, his next attempt at taking over the world. Not that his other plans weren't brilliant already. After all, there were none who were as brilliant as he, the Almighty Zim! It's just that he tended to hit a few…_roadblocks_, which sent things downhill. Usually Dib was the cause.

Another painstakingly loud sound, much like a sonic-boom, just over his house. That was the third one in nearly five minutes! Was the Dib-stink just such a failure that he couldn't keep _one_ measly thing working, or was this something else entirely?

Maybe it was Gir. The SIR Unit did have a bad habit of…_tampering_ with things it shouldn't have. The possibility of Gir creating chaos with some sort of machine outside was both plausible, and extremely dangerous. Then again, it did a number of abnormal things. His idiotic human neighbors would probably think they were just weird celebratory sounds or something. Or they could realize that he was an alien, barge in, and dissect him, right then and there.

His antennae twitched in discomfort, as his entire body followed suit in a frightened shudder. The coldness of his metallic chair offered no comfort to the irked Irken, only heightening his nervous system with adrenaline and fear.

Gloved claws hovered over his computer's security camera system, finally making contact with the surveillance button as he realized it was safer to check out the cause of the disturbance, than risk the exposure. A buzz, a whir, and a click—the neighborhood was his to see. Of course, all that he really saw was darkness, but then again, it was midnight. Weren't most of the pathetic species asleep at this time? He saw no reason to why any noise should have been made at all, unless it really _was_ Gir…

"GIR, report status!" He shrieked into the megaphone implanted in the tiny porcelain statue. Only a moment later did a high-pitched, childish laugh respond to his call—from inside the base.

"_I'm watching the late-night monkeys!"_

So the crashing _wasn't_ Gir. Then it could have been Dib, _must_ have been. But how would such an idiotic boy get onto the top of his base? It was impenetrable with his security system! At least, it should have been. He needed to work on it a bit more—oh, that didn't matter _now!_

"I know you're out there, Dib-stink!" He hissed into the mic, hearing his own voice echo across an empty yard.

A moment.

Nothing.

"GET OFF MY BASE, YOU BIG-HEADED IDIOT."

That was _sure_ to get some sort of reaction.

…

Nope.

_Nothing._

That was…_odd_. Zim leaned back in his chair, partially thoughtful, partly in a state of extreme annoyance. What was causing that infernal sound then? High-pitched like the whir of an engine, but also keening, like the screech of metal against metal. It passed over him four times already now, almost deafening as it slipped over the base, and then quieter as it got farther away.

"Computer," he grumbled, slamming both hands against the dash of his controls. "Investigate the strange noise."

"_That's Gir, still laughing."_

"No—no! Not _that_ noise!" An almost-hiss of impatience. "The other noise! The one that _keeps-!"_

The control room shook with the approach of a head-splitting metallic squeal. The sudden, unexpected motion that threw the tiny Irken from his seat. Man, he had to get straps for that thing or something.

"_That_ noise, Computer! _Analyze it!"_

A sigh, deep and regretful. _"Oh, alright. Stupid idiot can't do anything on his own—"_

"_Computer!"_

"_Fine. Analyzing soundwave. Analyzation complete. Sound is registered as the failure of a cruiser engine, more importantly, a Vortian-made cruiser."_

Zim blinked up at the warping screen. "How did you know that?"

"_I know a lot of things."_

"Well, whatever! What's a Vortian cruiser doing here—no. More than one, maybe? A fleet, sent to capture Earth for their own taking? But how would that many Vortians even exist for such a thing to be _possible?_ They were all…"

He trailed off, gloved fingers wringing together in thought. Prisoners and the dead. That's all that was left of the Vortians. For the most part, anyway. The chance of seeing them wasn't impossible. He'd seen one on Food-Courtia, though they'd never said anything to him other than ordering. It was a strange thing to think about, definitely.

"Hm…Computer, scan the surrounding area for traces of the ships!" He had to get rid of them before the Tallest found out. Nothing would upset the Leaders of the Irken race more than a supposedly rare/extinct prisoner species, right?

"_No need."_

"Why _not?"_ It was a commanding yell. Zim could feel his fuse shortening with each moment that his infernal machine refused to complete what he assigned it, without delay. Wasn't that what machines were supposed to do? Just like every other lower being, they were meant to OBEY.

"Obey Zim! Scan!"

"_Look outside."_ It heaved in an exasperated tone. _"There's your 'scan'."_

If looks could kill, the computer's screen would have been nothing but shattered glass and sparking wires. Feeling himself puff with anger, the Invader once more switched cameras, going from lawn-view, to town. Of course, that required a bit of odd action from the gnomes, but there wasn't anyone around anyway. And if there was, he'd just make up some dumb excuse. Or erase their memories, extract their brain, kill them. Those were always options.

"Oh…" He could feel his feelers droop down in a rather shocked fashion. That was, uh…well, that was _problematic_.

Just down the street, past the Skool, past Dib's house, somewhere in the suburbs—lay the apparent wreckage of the cruisers he'd surveyed. The bright glow of the fire-caught metal was just as bright as an emergency flare from where he was sitting. That was surely going to bring in some attention.

Bad attention.

_Media_ attention.

"Computer, put together an emergency plan of attack! These Vortian-ship riding scum need to be dealt with before…," he couldn't stand to say it, "_they_ get here."

"_What, reporters?"_

"Shh!" Panicked, Zim waved his hands about, acting as if the frantic motion would keep the invisible ears from hearing. "Yes…_them."_

"_You're overreacting—"_

"I AM ZIM. ZIM DOES _NOT_ OVERREACT. NOW MAKE A PLAN. _MAAAKE IT!" _The Irken equivalent of a hissy fit was enough to give the poor machine enough reason to go along with its foolish master's plans, and this was no exception. As Zim screamed and spat and clawed at the air like a feral cat, the computer could only give its umpteenth sigh, and allow a scroll of battle-centric information and details to spit onto the paper the slot beneath it expelled.

The new printer worked well, Zim realized, as he stared at the thick black ink drawings of the glorious weaponry and uniforms Computer had dug up. A sinister smile crossed the previously faux-sobbing Irken's face, and the tears were replaced with laughter. Laughter both Computer and Gir had gotten used to over the years.

But there was no point fighting it now.

Humanity was _doomed_ with Zim around, in one way, or another.

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><p>"My car!"<p>

Roxi wasn't all that sure why she was actually crying over the vehicle. It was stained with dirt and cobwebs—not only that, but rusted over with years of being unused. But still, she screamed for the crushed vehicle as if she'd just bought it yesterday.

Sentimental value? Probably not. The most she did with it was drive from college to where she now lived, and then she'd never set a foot in it again. All her shopping was done online, and she pretty much lived off of fast-food nowadays. So why was she so upset?

Lingering on that issue might have mattered longer to her, if not for the fact that she then refocused her attention on what it was that had wrecked her car.

Was that…? No. Definitely not.

_Couldn't be._

It was some sort of weird…_van_-thing. Like, a big van. Weirdly designed too.

She stepped closer, pressing her candy-stained fingers and face against the windowpane in utter shock. Someone had just smashed her car with their van—from out of the sky. That was _insane._

And what was even crazier, was that the driver was now hanging upside down in his vehicle, struggling to undo the weird seat-belt he'd gotten tangled around him. A kid? Was that a _kid?_ Worse than that, was that a kid in a _costume?_

"Oh, god—I just got GTA'd by a cosplayer." Roxi groaned into her sticky palm, taking a moment to try and lick some of the excess candy off her fingertips. Was it alright to go out there and help him? More than one van had crashed, as she'd seen. All of them were pretty close together—but how'd they all get up so _high?_ Was this like a private jet-type thing, maybe? Maybe they were filthy rich cosplayers, on their way to a convention.

Yeah, that was it. _Definitely._

Bare feet stumbled across discarded bags of chips, leftover takeout and almost-empty bottles of soda. It was almost impossible to see the dark brown wood floor that had originally been laid down when she'd moved in, with all the trash that had gathered, but she was too busy to clean it all up. And at the moment, too distracted to even think about it.

A sugar-coated hand leapt up to brush away the stray hairs that had fallen across her eyes, only to get stuck in the process. "Oh, _man!"_

Now she gonna _have_ to take a shower.

…_Later,_ of course.

The sound she'd heard coming from the van had died down, the whirring replaced with the eerie crackle of the flames that were quickly sprouting up from the broken mechanics. It was a pretty bad sound, kind of scary, to be honest. Roxi hoped the little guy in the front seat was alright, and would remain that way until she got to him.

With the way the two vehicles were situated, the van/jet was too smushed against what used to be her car for her to just reach in and grab him…her. _Them_. It was too dark to know for 'd have to break through the window the old-fashioned way.

But what could be used to…?

"_Ow-!"_

Without thinking, she stepped on the remains of what used to be her lefthand side-mirror. The broken shards of glass lay scattered not only at her feet, but also in them. _Dang_, that was gonna take disinfectant, and some heavy duty bandages.

"Oh, _yeah!"_ It was a bit of an optimistic whisper for someone who'd just impaled their foot _and_ gotten themselves seven years of bad luck at the same time, but as Roxi stared at the metal frame, she realized that it would double perfectly as something to smash open the window with.

Gripping the makeshift hammer in her hand, she reeled back, tossing the mirror with as much force as she possibly could at the already cracking panes. It was a pretty weak throw, but it did the trick, and with a satisfying noise that resembled a baseball crashing through an old lady's window, the mirror broke through the jet's glass visor.

The tiny guy inside was unconscious, but she wasn't surprised. He'd been upside down for a while now, and that kinda rush of blood to the head could be fatal if she didn't get him down fast enough.

With one hand still stuck to her hair, she struggled to untangle the kid from his belts. They looked a lot like wires—which wasn't safe at all.

_What sorta fire hazard was this guy flying in?_ She mused, pulling the tiny body into her own arms.

It certainly was a weird costume. She'd never seen any sort of comic or cartoon with these sorts of characters, but hey, it was sort of cute. Maybe he'd tell her about it when he woke up. She? _They?_

Whatever.

As she rushed back across the lawn, clutching the stranger in her grasp as if they were a lifeline, she hardly noticed the growing urgency of the tiny light that continuously flashed from the knob on his goggles. Nor did she notice the group of approaching shadows, full of urgent-sounding whispers, and nervous twitching, from around the corner of her home.

It seems the Resisty had found their Captain, unfortunately, along with the young woman who had rescued him.


	3. 3

**Next chapter. Whew! Here's my two OC's: the fan-made species, and the Irken. My little Irken troublemaker is actually gonna be a bit of a big deal, or at least the cause for a big deal, later on in the story, so they do have some importance. I hope you guys like them, and if you'd like to know more about them, don't be afraid to ask—a lot of details about them both will be shared later on throughout the story.**

**Now onto the actual plot of this thing, which involves a lot of what's happening below, and what's happened before. Like I said, it'll all intertwine at one point or another.**

**Enjoy! R&R, all that good stuff.**

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><p>Tax'ii could see how nervous her guards were becoming, and that only made her all the more alert to their surroundings. The docking station was filled with incoming and outgoing ships, some cargo, and most military. Just being around such a large influx of weaponry was enough to make her skin crawl, and the tiny hair on the back of her neck rose to a standstill.<p>

Yet she stood tall and proud, hoping not to give off an inkling of the anxiety that was building underneath her cool exterior. What sort of dignitary would she look like, to break under such pressure? They'd been to planets worse than this—with far more _unsavory_ inhabitants.

Just none so revered for their expertise in the…"_armed forces_". Irken Invaders were known galaxy-wide for their ability to take over planets, enslave life-forms, and maintain control of uprisings with an iron-fist. Such powerful domination was quite intimidating, especially to such a peaceful race as the one that Tax'ii came from. She held back a shiver, just thinking about what would happen if this went bad.

Her planet would be conquered—maybe even _destroyed_, if even one foul-placed word slipped from her mouth at a bad time. She had to be extra careful. She'd heard the rulers of this Empire—_the Tallests, were they?_, were particularly picky about those they created trade-routes with, and even more likely to break these bonds of trust for their own needs. It was a deplorable system, by far, but the urgency of the situation drove her forward.

Past the guards, with their shields and thin-sheets of armor, not at all suited for hard-core battle. Down the ramp of her ship, snuggled between a large red cruiser, and a smaller cargo-van. The Irkens unloading the crates of supplies stopped to give her a curious stare, before quickly returning to their work when the driver of the ship called out in annoyance.

The diplomat knew why, of course. Not only was she not Irken, she wasn't even a soldier. Nor a common visitor. Tax'ii was an Althean politician, holder of one of the most highly-ranked positions of her planet. With her claws laced behind her back, she kept her face stone still, all the while feeling the two orbs atop her head shimmering with the colors of her emotions. Light pink, red, blue, yellow. Almost like horns, the translucent nubs probably looked ridiculous, pulsing about like some sort of intergalactic traffic light.

The contrast of the glowing sensors against her grey-toned skin only made her feel more ashamed. It was always a blessing to come across natives who knew very little about their species, or else she'd probably have been considered a disgrace in their presence.

One of the guards jogged up next to her, glancing over in agitation. "Are you sure this is _absolutely_ necessary, ma'am? I'm sure we could get just as useful assistance from any other race—we have so many options to choose from—what was the Council thinking of, sending you _here_, of all places?"

She held up a hand, as a small troop of Irken soldiers trotted by, movements coordinated and robotic. How terrifying. A moment until they disappeared behind them, echoing footsteps fading back.

"This isn't a topic up for _discussion_, soldier. These are desperate times. We have no other choice—they're the only ones who have what we need, and we have what they want. The Council's decision was made in thought of the good of our people—no matter _the cost."_

"But what if they—"

"And if they _do?_ That's always a consideration, soldier. If it fails, then we evacuate the situation before things go bad. If things get really hairy, well...we tried, didn't we?" A mere whisper of a smile to the armored person next to her.

They nodded back, in understanding of her conviction. Across multiple thresholds, through corridors, small pauses to read direction signs, Tax'ii led her party through the Irken base. She'd heard the Tallest Headquarters were located somewhere behind their auditorium, on one of the higher levels. But once they'd reached the elevator, she found herself stopped by a security guard.

Amazing, that they found them necessary. Such a strong planet, still with their own insecurities. It almost made her feel better, as she surveyed the small, gun-toting Irken before her. As if reading her thoughts, it narrowed its eyes at her.

"_Identification, foreign-being."_

"Diplomat Tax'ii, from the Planet Althea, located in Sector 4 of the—"

"_No further I.D. needed. I just needed to know your name."_ It tapped something into the com on its wrist, and the rather miffed politician straightened her spine, trying to stay as still as possible as the scanning mechanism shot out, coating her head and still flashing horn-nubs with a green grid. The light lingered for a moment, before retreating back into the guard's wrist-band, followed by what sounded like an authenticating click.

"_You've checked out. You can go up, but they—,"_ the gun was brought up, leveled on the shivering members of her group behind her, _"have to stay behind. It's protocol."_

"I understand." A few guards cast her a nervous look, but she held up her hand once more. "I'll be fine. Stay here until I signal for our leave."

A group of nodding heads and lowering shields. There was no use in acting like they had a chance here anyway. If they were attacked, they were done for. Defense was one thing. Offense was another.

An inhale, a pathetic attempt at steadying her nerves. She was a politician. She was chosen for this. She could do this. She had the smarts, the skills. They'd listen to her.

Yeah—yeah, this would go fine.

At least…she _hoped_ so.

* * *

><p>"Big sales! We've got big sales here, folks!"<p>

Cheerily, the Irken salesman held out his hat, waving in vain to the retreating backs of the leaving unloaders. One of them turned only to raise an eyebrow in his direction, before the lump of an alien leapt to join his friends in the back of the cruiser. With a whirl of the engines, and a cloud of smoke, Jak found himself, and his booth, coated in exhaust aftermath.

_What a bunch of jerks._

Brushing off as much of the grey dust from his pinstriped suit, he let out a sigh. No sales, again. It'd been nearly a week since he'd gotten at least one person to purchase something. What was wrong with everyone? Goo-Juice was delicious—a little squirmy, but then again, that might just have been the larvae inside the juice. Hey, there was nothing better than a fresh glass of G.J., and what was fresher than getting it straight from Andromeda Larva?

It wasn't his best plan, but he was sure it was gonna work. Once people heard about how great it was, he was gonna be rich. And powerful.

"I'll show those stupid Invaders," he muttered bitterly, carefully settling his hat back over his head. His antennae bounced through the small holes he'd cut out of the fabric, curling over his head in an almost jagged pattern.

So he wasn't the strongest Irken. Or the smartest. He had a bit of _height_ on him—so why wasn't _he_ an Invader? With a gun and a voot-cruiser, he could be as qualified to conquer as…as even that reject, Zim! How come that little no-good pipsqueak got status as an Invader, and he didn't? He had two—maybe _three_ feet on him! It wasn't fair.

Then again, most of that height was his _forehead_.

He sat there, picking off pieces of what the exhaust had thrown at him, before he let out a defeated groan. Everything was ruined. Might as well pack it up, and try again tomorrow.

"Careful—_watch it!"_

Or…

Ruby-colored eyes glanced over, just in time to see a pair of what looked like rather Elite Irkens carrying away a large purple and blue case. The markings on it were foreign, and rather…odd-looking. Not only that, but the two carrying it were rather…clumsy, with their actions. Rather uncharacteristic for the Elite.

Curiosity was one of the few banes of Irken existence, but Jak found himself rather enthralled by possibly making a discovery. And if it was nothing big—hey! Maybe he'd end up with some customers, after all!

Without even bothering to put up a sign to note his disappearance, he took off after the mysterious duo, running as fast as his little legs could carry him. They'd gone this way—no _this_ way. Maybe that way?

Oh, _great_, he realized as he'd turned another corner, only to come face-to-face with a metal wall. He'd lost them. The only potentially exciting thing he'd found in a while, and they'd slipped out of his fingers so easily—

"_Get it open!"_

"_Don't rush me—I'm trying! It's stuck!"_

"_Try harder! We need those weapons!"_

Voices. He could hear them. They were close—really close. And hushed, secretive-sounding. This was the perfect time for a retreat. He could just do what any Irken was _supposed_ to do. Go back to his station, and keep living out his menial, unexciting life until termination.

But that's not was he was _gonna_ do.

Sidling up against the wall, he padded closer to the spot the conversation was coming from. An abandoned foot-station. Recently closed, by the looks of the leftovers piling up in the nearby garbage cans. His PAK skipped across the wall, leaping behind a rather loud noise in his wake. Grumbling to himself, Jak pulled away from his hiding spot, to peek around the corner of the open doorway. Not that there was a possibility of the door being closed anyway—there was no door.

Two Irkens…no. Those weren't Irkens. Jak didn't know what they were, but they were rather…scary-looking. The size of any normal soldier. But they'd been wearing a holographic disguise, and now he could see the stark differences in the two.

Two creatures of entirely different races. One, Vortian—he recognized it from glimpses of the prisoners. Kinda looked like 777, only a different shade. The other was some sort of gelatinous mass, with three eyes that poked up over a one-toothed grin.

"C'mon, c'mon—Vort! Stupid weapons. This thing won't open!"

"Whaddya mean it won't open? Gimme that! I'll _smash_ it open!" With a swipe of its gooey hand, the other creature snatched the crowbar from its companion, substituting prying the box open for wildly smacking it. _"Open! Open! Open!"_

"Karit, cut that out! You're gonna get us _killed!"_

"I'm _helping!"_

"No you're not, you're—"

_Achoo!_

Oh, no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. He hadn't meant to do that. Stupid _trash_. Stupid dirty, _dusty_ alleyways! Stupid _nonexistent nose!_

Both frames froze. Jak catapulted himself back from the threshold, holding his hands over his mouth. So they were…trying to get weapons? Were those Irken made? Who were they? A million questions buzzed through the aliens mind, mixed with the panic that his mistake had created.

What if they found him? Would they kill him? Would they make him open it? What if he didn't know how? Would he be taken prisoner? What if—

There was no way he was sticking around to find out.

"What was that?"

"I don't know—go check it out!"

"_Me?_ Why _me?"_

"You're the curious one! You go!"

"No, _you!"_

"You!"

"_You!"_

They were bickering. That was good. He could get away now. Okay—run!

…

Now…_run!_

…

His legs weren't moving. Paralyzed in fear, the lower half of his body was immobilized. What about his PAK legs? Yeah, he could climb away with those—

"Hey, _you!"_

Oh, no. The Vortian had rounded the edge of the doorway, blaster drawn and pointed straight at him. Panicked, the Irken salesman lifted his hands into the air, a sign of non-resistance. He didn't want to die. Not like this! He wanted to go as someone of importance…not just some nobody in the back of an alleyway after watching some sort of illegal act!

"Did you find it?"

"Yeah, we got a troublemaker here! Irken-scum!"

"Gross!" The blob called from behind his adversary, somewhere in the desolate room. _"Blast him!"_

"I'm _going_ to!" The Vortian turned his head for a brief second, to respond, and Jak took the chance to extend his PAK legs, using the spider-like appendages to leap up the sides of the building. Smoldering spots behind him, and far too near for comfort, followed his path as he jumped from roof to roof, trying to outrun the gunshots as best he could.

"Come _back_ here, you…!"

"No one outruns the Dealer's Advocates! Get him! _Get him!"_

They stopped completely after he got to the sixth or so building. With his metal legs latched into the side of the shop, Jak felt a bit safer. This was a more populated spot. They couldn't come out here, not without their disguises.

Dealer's Advocates…they were dangerous.

What was he supposed to do now? Not like he could just go and report the incident. He wasn't supposed to leave his post until closing time. It was protocol—if they knew he'd broken protocol…he'd be tried for treason, and exiled!

Or _something_ like that.

"What was that?" He hissed, clutching his heaving chest. "That was…that was ridiculous. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have _done_ that."

Retracting his PAK's legs, the salesman quietly slipped into the crowd, riding the wave back towards his station post. Just get back there. Just go back to normality. Yeah…he'd do that. Good. That was a great plan. Just go sell his juice—no. He'd come up with a better product! Something that really catch the peoples' eyes!

He'd—

He'd…

"There!"

"Catch him!"

No way. They were after him, _still? _The sound of pounding feet and…something squishy pushed through the section of the crowd behind him, mixed with cries of outrage and disgust. They had dropped their disguises to catch him, out here? In the middle of public?

What sort of aliens had he _found?_

There was no time to find out. No point to sticking around.

Once more did the frightened, panicked Irken sprout his metallic legs, and with the urge of the shrieking blasters that grew ever-closer, he leapt up, crashing through the crowd. He needed help, he needed shelter, he needed a place to hide—

There was something in front of him!

_Someone!_

He had no clue who they were. Not Irken—but not the guys chasing him, and that was good enough. A screeching halt, just for a moment, and he loomed over the confused, somewhat shocked looking alien, just utter one frantic question:

"Which way to the ship dock?"

They didn't say a word, but lifted a grey, clawed hand in the direction north of where he stood. Jak didn't even bother to thank them, and took off in the assigned path.

He had to get off of Irk. He'd leave for a bit—then come back after they left.

Like a vacation. A small vacation.

This was gonna be _just fine_. He was going to get away.

After all, it's what he _wanted_ to happen.

But it's not what was _going_ to happen.


	4. 4

**A new chapter. It's been a bit.**

**More of Roxi. Next chapter should be more Zim and Dib. I'm gonna try to boil it down to at least one or two characters a chapter. This is also a relatively short chapter, and I apologize for that—but it's still got something in it, at least.**

**I hope you guys enjoy. R&R, all that good stuff.**

* * *

><p>It had been hours, and this guy still wasn't up.<p>

Roxi let out a sigh, watching the tiny, unconscious body that laid out on her couch with curiosity and confusion. No matter how she'd pulled or tugged, the costume wouldn't come off. Not even hot water and soap would get rid of that body paint, or whatever it was. It was weird.

"What's your story, little man?" She spoke to no one, leaning against one hand.

The stranger's place in her home had given cause for a clean-up, however small. Some of the trash had been shoved in corners, under chairs and tabletops. Most of it stuck out in piles from the various garbage bags she had piled around the vicinity, and the overload of trash she hadn't realized was around her gave the poor girl a sense of sickened grief. Jeez, she was a slob.

Hopefully this guy wouldn't judge her too badly. Not that he would have the right to, considering the fact that he had pretty much body slammed his vehicle into hers. There were going to be some serious repercussions about that; that much she knew. Lawyers, cases, court—all leading to money. That was the only good thing she could get out of this. Enough money to get it fixed—or to buy more snacks.

Yeah. More snacks sounded _good_.

Letting her hands hang over the edge of the chair she was currently straddling, she could only feel her curiosity growing. This guy had fallen out of the sky, in a van. And he was wearing a super weird costume…

The same icy feeling she'd experienced out on the lawn came rushing back, as the paranoid freak in the corner of her mind whispered silly possibilities through her thoughts. But there was no way he was…one of _those_. Yeah. Those guys were green. And had big eyes. And had flying saucers.

Definitely not one of—_them_.

Definitely.

As much as she wanted to keep sitting and watch the kid, in case he woke up, the nervous energy that was flowing into her legs sept up into her stomach, causing her will to eat to drive her from her chair. To punctuate the point, her stomach growled. Roxi pushed her hands through her hair again, more at ease now that the stickiness had been washed clean from her palms. What did she have left?

Chips—leftover Chinese. Maybe she could just order a pizza…

She'd barely reached the phone, when there was a sound. A crash, a gasp, a squeak. Then, screaming. All before she'd even turned around. Apparently the kid was up—and freaking the hell out.

"Whoa! Whoa!" She whirled around, holding her hands up. "Calm down, little dude—"

"Where am I?" He spoke in a light accent, definitely not American. "Who are you? Where is my crew—my _ship—ow…"_

He had started hyperventilating, spouting some weird gibberish in-between sentences. Yep. Not American at all. Guess he'd gotten hurt a bit more than they'd both thought. Cautiously, Roxi took a small step forward, hands still flat in front of her.

"Yo, I don't know who you're talking about. But you crashed your car in my lawn—into my car, actually. You were alone, bud."

"Car? I don't have a…" From behind his goggles, she could see his eyes widen, and his entire expression morphed into something mournful. _"My cruiser!"_

The miniature body stumbled forward, struggling to maintain balance. His legs—she hadn't even seen it, but there was something going on with his legs. And whatever it was, it looked bad. The tiny nubs that she guessed were his feet, or maybe what was left of them, buckled without warning, sending the little guy crashing back down.

Ok, forget subtle. This kid was gonna hurt himself if she didn't do something. Roxi rushed forward, tugging the small body up as best she could. "Wow, okay, kid. You've gotta get to a hospital. This is bad. You've gone through some serious—we can forget the lawyer stuff later—you've got some serious damage in your legs."

"My legs are fine." He snapped, shoving her back roughly. She squeaked, unprepared for the strength that came with the push. There was more power than a kid should have possessed in that little body. "It's this stupid planet—the gravity here—"

The kid broke off again, suddenly whirling on her with a vicious expression. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

"I-I'm Roxi!" She responded, still a bit winded from the fall. "Just Roxi. You…uh. You went unconscious when your car crashed—it was gonna blow up or something, so I just—"

"It _what?"_ The tiny body went livid. _"It blew up? My cruiser blew up?"_

"Yeah, man!" She huffed, scooting back as he advanced on her, overturning her coffee table in the process. Okay, bad idea. That just made him angrier, and all of a sudden, the legs she'd thought were broken had managed to propel him with such speed that he was leaning over her, spitting venomous words into her face.

"What did you _do_ _to it?_ What did you do _to me?_ This is ridiculous—I've got to call the Resisty—the crew can't just be left out there!" A gloved hand flipped over something on his wrist. It looked sort of like a watch, but made noises like a game console controller. The screen that shot up was like a virtual screen, something you'd see in sci-fi movies, and Roxi let out another cry of surprise.

The kid ignored her, only continuing to spit out that weird string of foreign language into the '_microphone'_ of the device. The only thing he got back was static. If he was waiting for a reply, he certainly wasn't getting one.

"No! No this can't—_this can't be happening!"_ Frantic pushing at buttons, jabbing at whatever it was. Still nothing. No matter how many times he pushed at the screen, flipped the switches, or screeched in that jargon, he got nothing in return.

Roxi reeled back when the kid let out a howl of anguish, slumping to his knees next to the overturned table. "This can't be happening…this _can't_ be _happening_…"

Pressed up against the wall, she pushed her palms flat against the surface, trying her best to slide away from the obviously emotionally compromised stranger. But the trash bags around her didn't help in any escape, and the noise they made only drew his attention again.

But—she was a bit shocked. There was nothing left of that anger. Defeat. That's all she was greeted with, as the kid leaned over her again. Just…defeat.

"I'm Lard Nar." He spoke, extending a gloved palm out.

The confused woman felt her eyes flick down to the tiny hand, then up to its owner. Hand. Owner. Hand. Owner. Hand. Owner.

"Well? Are you going to take it or not?" The kid—Lard Nar—snapped.

She hesitated. This wasn't a good idea. He'd already shown his capacity for freaking out. She didn't even know him. _Don't take the hand. That's the good idea. Don't do it. Get up and run. Go find the police. Do it._

…

_Do it._

…

She reached out, and grabbed his hand.

_No, no, no, no! Bad idea! Bad idea!_ Her common sense shrieked. Too late, though, as she felt herself being hoisted up. It was really weird, considering the fact that he was only about a third of her own height. But there was she, a full-grown woman, having a kid yank her to her feet like it was _nothing_.

"Right…I'm Roxi."

"You already said that." He pointed out, releasing her fingers to observe his own glove, as if he'd expected her to leave behind some sort of gross residue. She didn't blame him, considering she probably would have if she hadn't just washed her hands.

"Oh…_yeah."_

An awkward pause filled the air between them. This was weird—bizarre, and she found she had to say something to make the tension go away, or else she'd go crazy herself. "So…uh…where are you headed?"

"What?" He gave her an incredulous look.

"You're a cosplayer, right? You heading to PAX? Comic-Con? Anime-Con?" She rattled off a few other names, getting nothing but the same blank stare from him with each title. "No…?"

"…Space." He answered after a moment.

"What?" She held back a snort. "Like…some sort of Alien-Con? You a Trekkie or something?"

"No." He snapped back, and she felt bad for the snide comment, and a little scared. "I'm Captain Lard Nar, leader of The Resisty."

It was weird, how proud the kid looked when he said it. Roxi only managed a nod. "Uh-huh…sure. Yeah, okay. Uh…is that a comic or something? A game?"

'_Lard Nar'_ narrowed his eyes. "We're a resistance force against the Irken Empire."

That didn't really answer her question. "Sounds cool."

"Oh, yes. We're very _cool_." More pride, and a smugness she didn't let slip by.

"Well, Mister '_Captain'_, if you're so cool—where's your _crew?"_

His expression fell, face morphing into something angry, almost feral. "I've lost contact with them. I'll have to wait until I get to a place with a better signal before I try the coms again."

She had no idea what that meant. "Alright…you need the Wi-Fi password?"

"The _what?"_ Another look of confusion and disgust.

"Wi-Fi? Like…so you can connect to the Internet and…?" She was getting nowhere with him. "Nevermind."

More silence. Curiously, Roxi watched the '_horns'_ on the top of the kid's head bounce. They looked like they'd be pretty tough, but they still swung around like they were made of something soft. Cloth? Some sort of putty? Probably just plastic or something.

"I really like your costume."

"_What?"_ Every time he said it, Lard Nar seemed to get more and more agitated.

"Your costume, bruh. I seriously like it. Looks top quality."

"Are you kidding me? Are you really _that_ dense?" Before she had the chance to ask what he was talking about, he shook his own head. "Nevermind. _Stupid Earthlings—wouldn't know an alien if it was walking down the street."_

"Hey—I gave you a compliment!"

"You're an _idiot_ if you can't see that I'm _obviously not—,"_ he stopped with a gasp, hands flying down to grasp at his side painfully. _"Ow…"_

Oh, damn. He _was_ hurt. "Jeez, you okay? Let me see—"

"No! Don't you touch me! Get your _filthy_ Earthling hands away from me!" Speckled with that weird stuff, his words came out brash and angry, as he swept rather well-manicured nails out at her outstretched hands.

"Ow! Dammit, I'm trying to _help_ you!"

"No! You'll just dissect me and ship me off like every other thing you humans deem '_unnatural'_!"

Now she was seriously confused. "That's ridiculous! Why would I…?"

Then she caught it. As he turned, trying to hide the wound on his side, she saw it. It was just a tiny flash, a glint of color under the light—but that was definitely green.

The kids was bleeding _green_.

"_Holy shit."_ She breathed, letting the curse out before she could stop herself. _"Holy…shit."_

"Stay back!" Weakly, he waved one arm in her direction, the other attached over the spewing wound. Green quickly coated his gloves, trailing down to her floor to stain the already dirty wood with a sickening pea-soup color.

"Y…you're…that's…," she stumbled for words, feeling something both icy and hot shoot up the edge of her throat.

"I told you." He spat, pointing with a clawed appendage. "I'm from _space_, okay? I'm _not human."_

She could see that.

Actually, she couldn't see anything.

Everything was black.

…

_Whoops._


End file.
